The Rescue (12 page)

‘Ed?’ he said.

It was the boy I’d spoken to earlier, on the other side of the door.

‘Si.’ I looked round. There were six kids here. Two boys and four girls. None of them looked older than eleven. There was no sign of Dylan.

‘Donde esta la chica con el pelo rojo?’ I asked, hoping Dylan’s distinctive red hair would have marked her out.

‘Ha salido.’ There was a finality to the boy’s tone I didn’t like.

‘Gone where?’ In my haste I forgot to speak in Spanish.

The boy stared stupidly at me. One of the girls started speaking in a rapid, high-pitched Spanish I couldn’t follow.

I turned to Stanley, who was watching all this intently.

‘What’s she saying?’ I asked.

‘The girl with red hair has gone with the other big girls, to the Casa Elena,’ he translated. ‘It’s a place where people come to find cheap labour – you know, housemaids and cleaners and so forth. This girl heard the guards talking about it. Apparently there were arguments. Someone called Jorge wanted to sell her on, but your guy Fernandez insisted she should stay here until he’d found you – then he’s taking her back to his camp.’

I nodded. That made sense. As far as Fernandez was concerned, Dylan had wealthy parents expecting her home at some point. She was worth far more to him in camp, than out of it, though clearly Jorge had disobeyed his orders to leave her here while he looked for me.

‘Where’s Casa Elena?’ I said.

‘I don’t know. This girl says it’s in San Juan, though, which is something.’ Stanley paused. ‘We need to get these kids to a safe place, then we can look for her.’

I nodded. ‘Venga,’ I said to the first boy.
Come.

The six kids obediently followed Stanley and me out of the cellar and up the stairs. Once we were outside and on the street, Stanley spoke again to the girl who’d told us about Dylan and the Casa Elena.

‘These kids have been fed and allowed to wash,’ he said to me quietly. ‘Doesn’t look like they’ve been physically harmed. My guess is that Fernandez and Jorge are planning to sell them on as slave labour, like the older girls, but in factories rather than households.’

My mouth fell open. ‘That’s terrible. Surely they wouldn’t get away with that?’

Stanley gave a tired shrug. ‘It happens all over the world. Street urchins like these . . . no families to speak of . . . in constant trouble with the law . . . Throw in a few corrupt police officers, an overworked social services system and one or two entrepreneurial bastards like Fernandez prepared to take risks to make some extra bucks – and it’s all too easy to see how it happens.’

As we emerged onto the darkness of the Calle Norte, I fell silent. Home, and Mum and Dad and my sisters and our simple routines – meals, TV, school etc. – seemed a million miles away. I looked round at the kids. They were still all huddled together, looking up at us with wide, frightened eyes.

‘
Ed?
’ It was Stanley.

I started, not realising he’d been speaking to me.

‘I was saying that there’s a convent just down the road from my hotel. We can leave the kids there. Possibly the nuns will also have heard of Casa Elena. It’s hard to keep secrets in small towns.’

‘Okay.’ My guts twisted into a painful knot as I remembered Luz. I was sure Dylan would be safe. Fernandez was too smart to let anything really bad happen to her. Anyway, I couldn’t imagine Dylan as anyone’s housemaid. But what about Luz? She was, presumably, at the Casa Elena too, waiting to be sold on to some exploitative family.

The nuns at the convent looked shocked when we turned up in the middle of the night with all the street kids in tow. It took a few minutes for Stanley to explain what had happened, but once they understood, the nuns readily agreed not only to take the kids, but to contact the police in Madrid in the morning.

‘They’ll help track down the children’s real families, if there are any,’ Stanley explained as we left. ‘At the very least, they’ll be put into proper care homes.’

‘Suppose the homes aren’t nice places?’ I said.

Stanley shook his head wearily. ‘There’s nothing we can do about that. At least these kids won’t be sold into slavery now.’

I supposed that was true, though it was hard to leave all those frightened children at the mercy of a State which had already failed them once. Again I thought of home and my sisters. Kim was only nine. About the same age as many of these street kids. Still, what else could we do? I could hardly start trying to find families for every child myself.

‘We deal with what we can, Ed,’ Stanley said, seemingly guessing my thoughts. ‘I’m trying to help you because it’s the right thing to do, but you have to know where to draw the line – where to hand over to the professionals.’

I sighed. I knew he was right, but it still didn’t feel good.

We headed for Casa Elena. The nuns at the convent had heard of the place – apparently it had once been a bar, but the Madelina had put it out of business.

‘As far as the nuns are concerned it’s empty,’ Stanley explained as we walked along another deserted San Juan street. ‘They say it’s really run-down.’

They weren’t lying. Casa Elena was little more than a shack, complete with a rickety wooden porch and paint-peeled windows. The whole place was in darkness. Stanley fished his Lockdown out of his pocket and glanced at me. ‘Ready?’

‘Yes.’

Stanley knocked on the door.

A sleepy female voice answered in Spanish. ‘Quien es?’
Who is it?

‘Senor Fernandez.’ Stanley lied, his voice low and insistent. ‘Abre la puerta.’

Seconds later, the door creaked open. An elderly woman dressed in a long white nightgown stood in front of us. Her mouth fell open as she registered Stanley was not Fernandez. Before she could call out, he darted forward and pressed his Lockdown against her shoulder. He held it there for a few seconds after she collapsed. I stood there, shocked – had that really been necessary? She wasn’t exactly going to fight us . . .

‘She’ll be out for a while now,’ Stanley said, matter-of-factly, dragging her inside. I followed him, feeling troubled. Despite the late hour, the house was swelteringly hot. The front door opened into a smelly, open-plan room with a TV and a tatty sofa at one end and a grimy kitchen area at the other. There was no sign of any one else around.

I glanced at the stairs in the corner. ‘The girls must be up there,’ I whispered.

Stanley laid the old woman in a chair and straightened up. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

We crept up the stairs. Every step creaked, but there was no sound from the landing. It was tiny, with only three doors – one of which stood open, revealing the outline of bathroom furniture. Stanley twisted the handle of the room next door and pushed it silently open. A bedroom – with one large double bed, a mess of clothes . . . and nothing else. It was empty.

He signalled across to the remaining room. The door was shut. I tried the handle. Locked. I was sure we could break it down between us – it looked as rickety as the rest of the house.

Stanley clearly had the same idea. He mimed shoulder-barging the door. I nodded, and he held his hand with three fingers pointing up. One down. Two down. Three down. As he made a fist, we both stood sideways on to the door and shoved against it.

It splintered easily and we burst together into the room. Darkness. Then a light from the other side of the room flashed into our eyes. A smash. Something broke over Stanley’s head. He let out a groan. Blinded by the glare of the light, I darted forward and shoved my Lockdown in the direction of the attacker. Contact. I had no idea whether my weapon was pressed against a person or a piece of furniture. I pressed the trigger anyway. Sparks. A thud as someone fell to the floor I knelt and held the stun gun against them for a couple more seconds, determined to make sure they were completely unconscious. The light across the room dipped. A squeal – a girl’s voice.

I looked in the direction of the light. I could just make out a lamp held in someone’s hands . . . the outline of a girl.

Luz.

Forgetting Stanley and our unconscious attacker, I raced towards her. As she recognised me, her eyes grew wide.

‘Eds, English,’ she said softly. ‘You come.’

‘Si,’ I said.

My stomach was doing cartwheels at the sight of her. She was more amazing-looking even than I’d remembered. I could feel my face blushing bright red. She was staring at me . . . and it wasn’t like with anyone else, ever . . . I just
had
to meet her eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. They were so beautiful – huge, and shining with sudden gratitude in the lamplight.

Whoosh
. I was inside her head. This time, she was expecting it. I took a second to register the ‘feel’ of her mind. I sensed a huge amount of fear, but also a strong sense of survival and a steady quality that I wasn’t used to in people our age.

Hola, Luz
, I thought-spoke, trying to calm my own thoughts and feelings which were jumping around like rabbits.

Hola, Eds. How do you this?

‘Ed.’ Stanley’s voice beside me brought me back to the present.

I broke the connection with Luz. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, but I’m not so sure about this girl you knocked out.’ Stanley pointed to the shattered remains of a vase which lay on the floor at his feet. Beside the broken vase was a girl with red hair.

My heart leaped into my mouth. It was Dylan.

She wasn’t moving.

11: Helicopter ride

I stared at Dylan’s body. Had I killed her? No, I’d only used a stun gun, even if I had been pressing hard on the trigger for a good three or four seconds after she’d fallen. Surely she was all right? Stanley hauled her to her feet. Her head lolled and her arms hung limply by her side.

‘Oh God,’ I groaned.

‘She’ll be fine, kiddo,’ Stanley insisted.

As if in confirmation, Dylan let out a low moan. I sighed with relief.

Luz was tugging on my arm. ‘La chica, your friend . . .’ She lapsed into a stream of Spanish I couldn’t follow.

Stanley nodded. ‘This girl says that Dylan thought we were the old woman. Apparently, earlier, she tried to attack the old lady so they could get away, but the old lady hit her back.’ He paused. ‘The girl says she doesn’t understand how, but somehow Dylan wasn’t hurt – she only pretended to be – and was waiting by the door, hoping for another chance to attack her.’

I nodded. That sounded like Dylan successfully deploying her defence-against-physical-harm ability.

‘She’s definitely going to be okay?’ I said.

‘You held that stun gun against her for a while too long, kiddo. But she’ll be fine, yes. She’ll be out for a bit, then she’ll probably want to sleep it off for a few hours.’ Stanley hauled Dylan over his shoulder. ‘Come on. WE need to get out of here before Fernandez works out where we are.’

He turned to leave. I touched Luz’s arm. ‘Ven,’ I said gently. ‘Come with us.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Stanley said from the door. ‘We can’t take on any more people, we’ve got to get to this camp and find your other two friends.’

I stared at him. He hadn’t mentioned rescuing Nico and Ketty before.

Luz shuffled closer to me. I was pretty sure she hadn’t understood Stanley’s exact words, but she had certainly got the gist of his argument.

‘We can’t leave Luz here,’ I said, my heart beating fast.

‘I’m not saying that,’ Stanley said, impatiently. ‘We’ll tell her where the convent is. She’s old enough to make her own way there and explain herself to the nuns.’

‘No.’ I don’t know what made me so bold. I was really in no position to argue with Stanley. He had already gone way out of his way to help me – and he’d just implied he was prepared to go even further and, somehow, take us back to Camp Felicidad to rescue Nico and Ketty.

‘
No?
’ Stanley’s eyes widened. He adjusted his hold on Dylan’s legs.

‘No, it’s not fair. She’s got no one else. And it’s the middle of the night.’ I stared defiantly at Stanley. My heart pounded. Luz’s slender arm pressed against mine. She was trembling. I put my arm round her shoulders.

‘But, Ed . . .’

‘I promised I would help her.’ This was true – and I already had a plan for making it happen. I was sure that once I’d explained Luz’s situation to Geri, she’d be willing to help find her a proper home. ‘Anyway, she’s only one more person and I’m
not
leaving her behind.’

Stanley hesitated for a second, then exhaled slowly. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But come on, we need to hurry and your friend here isn’t getting any lighter.’

We made our way swiftly out of the house. Outside it was almost light – the sky a beautiful rose-tinted orange colour, glinting on the horizon where the sun was about to rise.

A short time later, we arrived back at Stanley’s hotel. He deposited Dylan in an armchair in the lobby and told us to wait while he raced upstairs to collect his bags. A couple of minutes later he was back, barking out orders in Spanish to the concierge who’d been giving Luz, the still unconscious Dylan and myself some very odd looks.

Stanley asked the man to sort out a taxi, then slipped him some money, pointing at us then miming the zipping up of his mouth to indicate the need for absolute silence.